Strange Berry
by hoidn
Summary: Heart, what art you? / War, star, part? —Brenda Shaughnessy (In which the author attempts to resolve her KILLING RAGE about season 4 by giving Vic some power back.)
1. War

**A/N:** i started writing this before 'words for empty...' but got stuck and then my brain was hijacked by walt and his 26 letters. from the beginning, the story seemed to fall naturally into a three part structure. then i reread the poem 'artless' by brenda shaughnessy and the excerpt in the summary really struck me. so i decided to re-purpose it. the title is also from the poem because i am incompetent when it comes to titles.

* * *

 **WAR**

Vic watched Eamonn drive away, unable to control the smile on her face. It was such an unexpected thing. Sleazes and stalkers and confusing dynamics aside, the last guy who'd been openly attracted to her was Sean. And apparently that was long enough ago that she'd forgotten how to tell when a man was interested and not just joking around. Flirty jokes had become the default for dealing with most of her male colleagues as a cop. Her suggestive exchanges with Branch had been more about competition and status than sex. And early on she'd even hit Walt with some innuendo now and then. At least until the line between what was play and what was real blurred beyond recognition.

Just thinking his name brought to boil the anger that'd been simmering since he'd come back to work. Vic looked up at the station building as her smile slipped and fell. She'd been pissed at Walt before but never like this. This was six weeks of being all but ignored and then days of getting snarled at for bullshit transgressions. This was him using the job as an excuse not to deal with his personal shit. And she'd had enough. She was done with him being a dick and acting like the only feelings that mattered were his own; done living on months of nothing and still putting him first; done being treated like a toy he didn't want for himself but didn't want anyone else to have either. She was done.

Walking up the stairs, Vic finally gave in to all the resentment and frustration and confusion she'd been pushing down for so long. She felt cocked like a gun with the safety off and a bullet in the chamber. All that potential destruction just waiting for release. She hit the landing and aimed herself at the door marked 'Private'. Trajectory set, she slammed into Walt's office and pulled the trigger.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

The door glass rattled in its frame.

Walt braced both hands on his desk and turned to her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said."

Clenching his jaw, he rose silently to his full height and crossed his arms. It was a move he used often to cow unruly witnesses and intimidate suspects. But Vic had been surrounded by cops her entire life and that kind of posturing hadn't worked on her since the age of seven. It certainly wasn't going to work now.

She kept her voice low and flat with a great deal of effort. "You've been acting like a complete jackass since you came back. You've been rude and dismissive and completely inflexible with everyone. Ferg and Eamonn and I worked our _asses_ off while you were gone, and we got zero help from you. I don't even know how many messages I left that I guess you didn't think were important enough to return. And instead of some kind of acknowledgement or, I don't know, maybe even a _thank you_ , we get nothing but a bad attitude, like you're pissed that it all didn't just fall apart without you!"

"I'm supposed to thank you for doing your jobs?"

"For doing _your_ job as well as my own, hell yes!" Walt opened his mouth again but she wasn't done. "And especially Eamonn, who's been working here _as a favor_. You were nothing but disrespectful to him and that was before you fired him for no goddamn reason! It's been like a watching a dog mark its territory around here. I keep waiting for you to start pissing in the corners. So I repeat, what the _fuck_ is your problem?"

Oh, now he was angry. "Let me remind you that _you_ work for _me_ , Vic—"

"Like you ever let me forget it," she snapped.

"—and I'll put up with a lot from you, but if you want to start talking about a lack of respect then take a look in the mirror."

She laughed, incredulous. "You'll _put up_ with a lot from me? Well holy shit, how generous of you!"

He let his hands fall to his sides. "I didn't mean—"

"No, uh uh," she cut him off. "You left me in charge and I did my best for this department and the whole damn county. If that's not enough for you, if you don't like the way I was running things, fine, but I'm not going to apologize for getting the work done, and I'm not going to apologize for bringing in somebody— _who you approved_ —who was qualified and knew the job. Eamonn's a good cop and Ferg and I would've been up shit creek without his help. Whatever irrational dislike you've got for him doesn't give you the right to act like an unprofessional asshole."

That last barb seemed to hit him somewhere soft. "I'm sorry if sending your boyfriend back to his own job puts a crimp in your social life."

"Boyfriend? What boyfriend?" she demanded, furious and not even bothering to try and keep her voice down anymore. Let the whole goddamn world hear; what did she care? "I've barely had time to buy toilet paper in the last six weeks, when the hell have I had time to go on a date for Christ's sake? Or maybe you don't mean dating, maybe you mean fucking." She took two steps closer to the desk, honing in.

"Is that what you want to know, Walt? If I'm fucking him?" He winced and she felt a stab of morbid satisfaction. "For your information, the last time I got laid was with Sean and that was _before_ our little adventure with Chance Gilbert. Not that my sex life is any of your goddamn business, since I just _work for you_. But it's good to know you think I'll jump the first guy who crosses my path. What, you figure by now I must've already made my way through all the dick in this county, so I had to move on to a new one?"

"That's not what I—" he began in a gentler tone. But she was tired of being placated. Tired of his voice and his eyes and his every expression seeming to say so much but really meaning nothing at all.

"No, no, I'm glad we were able to have this little chat. It's definitely cleared up some things for me. So, really, thank you." Her voice cracked somewhere in the middle and she was horrified to feel the burn of tears behind her eyes.

Walt moved out from behind his desk. "Vic—"

Holding up her hands, she backed toward the inner door. Her face felt hot and her stomach teetered on the edge of nausea but there was no way she was going to lose it in front of him. "I haven't had a single day off while you've been playing Robinson Crusoe or whatever the fuck you were doing, so I'm leaving. I won't be in tomorrow and I may not come in the next day, either, just for the hell of it. If you've got a problem with that, Walt, I really don't fucking care. You can go ahead and fire me, too."

Vic wrenched the door open and strode to her desk. Snatching her things, she glanced up and found Ferg staring at her with his mouth open. "Sorry, Ferg," she said in an undertone. "See you in a couple days." And she walked quickly through the side door, down the stairs, and out of the building.

It wasn't until she was in the truck with the door shut that she started shaking. The adrenaline spike of fury was quickly wearing off and the hurt underneath it began to seep through. Vic dug down, trying to find the anger again, but it was all used up like a spent shell casing. In its place lingered an ache in the soft spaces behind her ribs, as if someone had gotten past her guard and delivered a hard kick to her chest.

 _Well,_ she thought as she started the engine, _hasn't he_?

Vic drove at exactly the speed limit the whole way home. Confronted by piles of unopened mail, dirty dishes, and garbage when she got there, she almost turned around and drove away again. Her head was a riot zone and she needed to get out of it, to not think or feel but just _do_. She took the stairs two at a time and stripped down to her underwear and tank. Clothes were strewn all over the place and she couldn't remember what was clean and what was dirty. She just grabbed the first pair of shorts she could find, pulled on some shoes, and walked back out the door.

As soon as she cleared the driveway, Vic started running. She didn't bother to stretch or warm up; she just ran. Flat out, as fast and hard as she could. She ran until her lungs burned and her muscles cramped. She ran until there was nothing in her head except the pounding of her blood. She ran until she fell, then pushed herself to her feet and ran some more. When she fell a second time, she got up and brushed at her bloodied knees, then turned around and stumbled her way home.

By the time she made it inside her head was throbbing and her mouth was almost too dry for spit. She chugged two glasses of water and then puked them up in the sink. The third glass stayed down after she started sipping it. Her bones felt brittle and the skin of her face was stretched tight from the sun and the wind. She took a cool shower and slathered herself in moisturizer. All her movements felt sluggish and uncoordinated; she was dizzy. Probably dehydrated.

When she finally thought to check her phone she found two missed calls from the office but no messages.

Whatever.

Exhausted by her run, her fight with Walt, and just her life in general, Vic switched off her phone, collapsed on the bed, and went to sleep.

[TBC]


	2. Star

**STAR**

It was dark when she woke, the kind of darkness she still wasn't used to. Coming from the constant lights of Philly, nights in Wyoming had unnerved Vic when she'd first moved here. The dark felt absolute, as if it had its own kind of solidity that sucked up light. Being unable to see what might be coming at her was a special kind of terror when she had so much to run from. Fear had made her feel weak and frail and she'd hated it. That hate was what had kept her going back then.

Before the divorce, Vic thought she'd made peace with Wyoming nights. But since Sean left she'd been turning on more lights and leaving them on until morning. She slept with her gun under her pillow when she made it upstairs to bed, or on the floor next to her when she crashed on the couch. And then there were the nightmares. If fear of the dark had been Ed Gorski's parting gift, Chance Gilbert's was himself, taunting her in her own head. Thanks to him, she'd only been averaging about four hours of sleep a night for months.

After switching on some lights and closing all the curtains and blinds in the house, Vic wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. Bruises were already blossoming on her knees and shins, and her muscles felt stiff and sore. She'd been living on takeout for weeks, but managed to find a jar of peanut butter and an unopened box of crackers in the cupboard. It wasn't the worst meal she'd ever had.

For a while she stood looking out the kitchen window. If there was one thing Wyoming had over Philly, it was the sky. On clear nights like this there were a million pinprick stars. Right there overhead were the Milky Way and constellations she'd learned about as a kid but only ever seen in a planetarium. Barefoot at the sink, Vic thought about sailors and explorers who could always make their way home even without a compass or a map. Just find Polaris and you're good to go. But she didn't know where home was anymore. She'd thought she knew; she'd been so sure.

Turned out, she'd been wrong.

There was another missed call from the office when she checked her phone. Vic tried to find some pleasure in knowing she'd rattled Walt hard enough to make him call her three times in one day, but all she felt was tired and listless and jagged inside. Her body hurt and her mind was numb. Climbing the stairs again took a lot more effort than it should have. When she fell back into bed the lights stayed on.

...

She woke up to sun streaming through the skylight in the bathroom and for a few groggy seconds didn't understand why everything was so bright. Vic couldn't even remember the last time she'd slept beyond sunrise, but the clock said it was after ten. That explained why she was so hungry.

Hunched over the kitchen counter, she stuffed the last of the peanut butter and crackers in her mouth while coffee brewed. Her knees weren't pretty but they were less swollen than yesterday and she figured she hadn't done any permanent damage. She took a hot shower, stretched some of the soreness out of her muscles, and got dressed. Her itinerary for the day was to buy groceries, clean up her damn house, and not think about Walt Longmire for at least a few hours.

That part of the plan only lasted until she got to the Red Pony. It had seemed safer to go there rather than the Busy Bee for her belated breakfast slash early lunch. Running into Walt so early in the day would sort of derail her not-thinking-about-him plan before it even got started. What she hadn't counted on, though, was Henry.

"Vic," he called when she walked in. "What brings you here at this time of day?"

"Hunger," she said. "Can I sit anywhere?"

"Of course. What can I get you?"

She ordered a burger and fries, along with some orange juice, figuring she was probably still a little dehydrated.

Only one other customer was in the place and stools were still stacked upside down across the bar. Vic hadn't been to the Pony before lunch very often but she was pretty sure it was usually busier than this. Maybe it was just a slow day or maybe it was part of the Malachi effect.

Henry came back with her juice and some water. "I have not seen you since before Walt went into his self-imposed exile. How have you been?"

"Busy," she said. "This is my first real day off in..." She did the backwards math in her head. "Wow, about two months, actually."

His eyebrows rose. "It is well overdue, then."

"Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you?" she muttered into her glass.

He eyed her silently while she chugged half of her juice. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever is bothering you."

"Nope."

"All right." He started back toward the kitchen. "I will get your order."

She finished her juice while she waited, idly spinning her phone on the table and watching the way the lights reflected off its shiny surface. It was so hypnotic that the arrival of her food startled her. "Thanks, Henry."

He nodded and returned behind the bar to answer the ringing phone.

While she ate, she looked around with more attention than she usually gave the place. Dust motes hung in the golden air in front of the windows and the scarred wood everywhere seemed to glow. Without the noise of the jukebox playing she could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. Glass clinked gently as Henry cleaned. She'd never been here when it was so quiet and the atmosphere was surprisingly soothing. It reminded her a little of Walt's cabin the night she'd stayed there. At least, the way it had felt before Lizzie showed up.

Fuck. Why did her thoughts always circle back to Walt?

Was it so much to ask that she not have him in her head for a day? Just one day to not hear him or see him or think about him, that was all she wanted. Except the entire goddamn state of Wyoming and everything in it reminded her of him, apparently. Elbows on the table, Vic dropped her head into her hands with a noise of frustration and mumbled, "You suck."

"The burger was not to your liking?"

Vic looked up at Henry with a half laugh. "No, the burger was great. I was just talking to myself. Or someone else. Or maybe both of us."

"I see." He smiled and she was struck by how genuine it was. Not the quietly-amused-by-the-world smile she was used to, but sincerely kind.

She chewed on her lip for a second. "Um, were you serious about that offer to talk?"

"Certainly. Let me take these back to the kitchen." He removed her dirty dishes and returned a few minutes later with a cup of coffee in one hand and another glass of water in the other. He set the water down in front of her and sat himself across from her at the table. "Why did you think my offer was not serious?"

She shrugged. "I just got the impression you don't like me very much."

Henry blinked and Vic thought she'd actually managed to surprise him. "We do not know each other well, but I do not dislike you, Vic. Even if there were no other reason, I would like you simply because you are Walt's friend and he thinks very highly of you."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be so sure about that right now."

"I see. So the 'someone else' is Walt?"

"Yeah." She picked at one of her cuticles. "You know, maybe this isn't such a good idea. I don't want to put you in the middle of anything."

"Walt and I have been friends for almost forty years, Vic. I do not think one conversation with you will jeopardize that. Now, Walt himself? Very possibly."

This sly, slightly cynical Henry was more familiar to her. She leaned forward a bit. "Do you ever just really want to punch him?"

"Frequently." Henry nodded. "However, I would not recommend it. You are likely to injure your hand more than his face."

"Voice of experience?"

"Indeed. Walt has always had a very hard head. And I mean that both literally and metaphorically."

Vic laughed and swirled her finger through the condensation on her glass. Now that she'd brought up the subject she wasn't sure where to go with it.

"Does this have something to do with Deputy O'Neill's departure?" Henry asked after taking a sip of his coffee.

She wasn't surprised that he knew about it; he seemed to know about almost everything that went on in Absaroka. "So you heard about yesterday."

"I believe I have the gist. Although my informant was not especially... forthcoming with the particulars."

She snorted. "At least he's consistent, I guess."

Henry inclined his head. "Perhaps you can fill in the blanks."

So she gave him the highlights: Branch's death, the six weeks of absence, the situation with Eamonn, and a summary of the words she'd thrown in Walt's face the day before. "Then I told him I wouldn't be in for a couple of days and that I didn't care if he fired me. And I left." She put her head down on the table and squeezed her eyes shut. "Fuck."

"He has not contacted you since then?"

"Three missed calls, no messages."

"Ah, yes. I am familiar with the pattern."

Vic sat up with a sigh. "I just don't know what to do, Henry. I'm sick of his shit and it feels like he's blaming me or punishing me for something and I don't even know what the fuck it is."

Henry didn't say anything for a few moments. Then he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "I think perhaps Walt is punishing himself."

"For what? I know he felt guilty when we all thought Branch killed himself, but he knows that's not what happened. And Barlow basically used Walt to commit suicide, so none of it was his fault."

"Guilt is not rational," Henry said with a shrug. "Since Martha's murder, Walt has been focused on avenging her death. He has never said it aloud, but I am fairly certain he believed that one way or another his life would end once he had succeeded."

"So, what, he'd be dead or in jail?"

Henry nodded. "But the process has taken much longer than he anticipated. And in that time Walt has been healing. Now he is coming out on the other side of his anger and grief to find not the end he expected but another beginning."

"You're saying that he feels guilty because he feels better?" she asked in disbelief. "That makes no sense." At Henry's raised eyebrow she waved her hand. "Okay, not rational. But what does that have to do with him acting like a total dick?"

Henry chuckled. "One might say that is simply his true personality coming to the fore." Vic rolled her eyes and he went on. "Walt has always had difficulty admitting he wants something for himself, and his ideas of right and wrong have always been very... shall we say, rigid. If there is something he wants but does not believe he should have, it creates conflict."

Vic tapped her fingers on the table, feeling like she was groping her way toward finally getting it. "Like with Lizzie."

"You mean Lizzie Ambrose?"

"He told me he felt like he was cheating on his wife when he called her the first time."

Henry gave her one of his unreadable looks. "Ah."

"Okay, so he doesn't want to just give up on life anymore and that makes him feel bad. I can sort of understand that. But taking it out on the rest of us? That's crap. People go through bad shit all the time, but that doesn't give them a free pass to make everyone else miserable."

"No, it does not."

Vic rapped her knuckles on the table in irritation. "So basically I'm back to wanting to punch him."

Henry grinned and then looked over as a few more customers walked in. He excused himself to go back to work. Since she still had things to do with her day that did not involve Walt Longmire, Vic went up to the bar to pay. "Thanks for the talk," she told Henry sincerely. "I appreciate it."

"You are very welcome."

...

Vic was exhausted again by the time she got home and it was barely six hours since she'd woken up. She wondered if she might be coming down with something. After putting away the groceries, she stretched out on the couch, telling herself she'd just lie down for half an hour and then get up and do some laundry.

It was dark again when she blinked awake. "Damn it," she muttered. This was getting ridiculous. Was her body going to try to make up for all the sleep she hadn't had in just two days?

She turned on a few lights and found her phone in the kitchen. There was another missed call from the office but no message. Vic sighed. Nothing was ever going to be resolved if Walt wouldn't even leave her a damn voicemail.

A little before 9 p.m. her phone rang again. Surprise jolted through her as she glanced at the display and saw Walt's home number. She sat frozen, pulse skittering, and listened to the ringtone until it cut off and the screen went dark. Just when she'd managed to force herself to look away, she heard the notification of a new message.

Her stomach dropped out.

Vic stared at her phone until the screen went black again. Nervous energy had her springing up and pacing through the house. It was too late and she was too tired to go for another run, so she'd settle for wearing a path in the carpet. A sick tension gripped her insides until they felt like they were twisting themselves into knots.

On her third lap through the kitchen, she stopped and poured a glass of water, ordering herself to drink it slowly. When she walked back out to the couch her phone still sat innocuously on the coffee table. Her heart beat like she was looking at a live grenade.

Why the hell was she so messed up about this?

 _Because he can hurt you,_ answered some part of herself, and Vic recognized it as the truth. She was afraid of what Walt might have said. Afraid that she would lose her job. Afraid that she'd shattered whatever remained of the closeness they'd once shared. As long as she didn't listen to the message, nothing it contained could do her any damage.

But trying to avoid pain had never worked for her in the past. Even if she ignored it now, she'd have to face this thing eventually. Better to just get it over with, Vic told herself. Still, her hands were actually shaking when she picked up the phone. She took a deep breath in and blew it out, then played the message.

"Uh, Vic... it's Walt. I guess you don't want to talk to me right now but I, um..." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. So, look, if you need to take more time off work, just let Ruby know. You've got plenty of days saved up. And you can call me if you want, any time. Even if it's to yell at me some more, that's okay. Uh, the consensus seems to be that I deserve it." There was a long pause before he said, "Um, anyway, I'm at home now. Which I guess you already know, so... That's all."

Vic felt as if she'd picked up a shell, waiting to hear the sea, and instead heard a melody. She held the silent phone pressed against her ear, Walt's message so unlike her expectations that she was completely thrown.

If he'd sounded angry or impatient, if he'd berated her or demanded to know why she wasn't taking his calls, she could've roused some of her own righteous anger in response. But his voice was low and warm and lightly self-deprecating; his words were considerate. For the first time in too long he sounded like the Walt she used to know, the one she'd been missing.

She played the message twice more, each time listening for false notes or subtext. But Walt didn't really do subtext. Hell, he barely did text. He was a man whose words meant exactly what they said, with no equivocation. All she could hear was his usual straightforward candor.

Feeling confused and strangely unsteady, Vic sat on the sofa for a long time before she finally sent herself to bed

[TBC]


	3. Part

**PART  
**

The next morning she had another voicemail, but it wasn't from Walt.

"Hey, Vic. It's Eamonn. So, something really weird happened that I'm still not sure how to explain, except that you must have some kind of superpower. Walt called me. And he apologized. For his, and I quote, _unprofessional behavior_. And then he offered me a job. So actually it was three really weird things. I felt like I was in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Or maybe Punk'd. Are they even still making that show? Anyway, the evidence of the call's existence is in my phone, so it must've been real. I haven't decided about the job yet, but I wanted to say thanks. For whatever you said to him. Talk to you soon, I hope. Bye."

Vic stared at her phone in disbelief. Walt Longmire apologizing. Wasn't that one of the signs of the apocalypse? And what if Eamonn decided to take the job? She respected him as a cop and she liked him as a person and, yeah, he was kind of cute, but fuck. The potential for awkwardness was huge.

Really, it was all too much to cope with first thing in the morning, and dealing with male egos was very far down on her to-do list for the day. She was getting her life together and the first thing she needed to do was make breakfast.

Afterwards, she cleaned up the kitchen, which included taking out the many bags of garbage. On the way back inside she cleared out the stuffed mailbox and collected the small army of newspapers camped on her doorstep. The stack of mail joined its twin on the counter and the newspaper army went into the recycling. Assuming that any of her clothes not in a drawer or the closet were dirty, she gathered and sorted them into piles, then picked one at random and shoved it in the washing machine.

All in all things were going pretty well. Her next plan was to clean the possibly toxic bathroom. Vic figured she could then spend the afternoon going through the mail and still get at least three loads of washing done before the end of the day. So while her personal and work lives might have gone to shit, at least she'd have clean clothes and a tidy house to sit in when she was unemployed and alone.

Yay.

She was just heading upstairs to scrub at the gross gunk in her shower—soundtrack courtesy of Whitesnake—when she heard a knock at the door. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Vic took stock of herself. Her hair was in a messy braid with loose pieces falling out everywhere, she was still wearing the tank top and shorts she'd slept in, her socks didn't match, and she may or may not have remembered to put on deodorant. On the other hand, at least she was wearing a bra.

With a shrug, she turned around and headed to the door. Whoever it was had come to _her_ house, not the other way around. If they didn't like what they saw, they could leave.

Vic pulled open the door and immediately wished she hadn't.

"Hey," said Walt from the other side of the screen.

"Hi."

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, is this a bad time?"

 _Yes!_ her mind yelled. _It's a terrible time! I am basically in my underwear and I look disgusting and I was in no way prepared to even talk to you let alone see you today! Go the fuck away!_ But what her mouth said was, "No."

"Oh." He swallowed. "So, um, can I come in?"

"Uh, sure." She unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, letting Walt take it as she backed up to let him inside. Standing in the entryway he seemed even taller and broader than usual, like a giant in her little house. Vic looked around blankly for a few seconds as she tried to remember what came next in these situations. Her brain was still trying to catch up to the fact that he was even here. On any other day she would've offered him coffee, or maybe a beer. But right now she wasn't feeling the least bit hospitable and she had no desire to make this—whatever it was—easier for him. "Do you... want to sit down?" she said eventually.

"Okay."

She lead him over to the sofa underneath the big front window. Sean hadn't wanted to put it there when they'd first moved in but she'd insisted and he'd let her have her way. That was back when they were still trying to make each other happy. It seemed like a long time ago.

Walt took his hat off and set it on the coffee table. His hair was all flattened down but somehow messy, as if he'd been running his fingers through it beforehand. It made him look a little naked, oddly vulnerable. Vic's stomach churned. She busied herself with winding a loose thread on one of the cushions around her finger until he spoke.

"You haven't been answering your phone."

She shrugged. "I didn't feel like talking to anyone." In fact, she hadn't even looked at it since listening to Eamonn's message.

"Right." He seemed to take in her appearance, finally. "What happened to your knees?"

"Went running. Fell down." Apparently they'd switched conversational roles for this talk. He had the complete sentences while she was as close to monosyllabic as she could get. "No big deal."

Walt nodded. It was possibly the most stilted and inane discussion they'd ever had. "Uh," he began, then paused, and she knew she couldn't make it through another of his stumbling, halting speeches.

"Look, Walt, if you're here to fire me, just get it over with."

He looked more baffled than she'd ever seen him. "I'm not gonna fire you, Vic."

Her flash of relief was quickly followed by puzzlement. "Then why are you here?"

"I, uh, I came to see you." The words _no kidding_ were on the tip of her tongue when he added, "To apologize."

Seeing him dance buck naked down Main Street couldn't have shocked her more. First Eamonn and now her? Maybe it really was the apocalypse. "Oh," she said, at a loss.

Walt set his hands down flat against his thighs and she noticed his bare left ring finger. When had he taken off his wedding ring? She couldn't remember. Was it when he'd started seeing Lizzie? Vic had taken hers off almost as soon as Sean packed up and left. But then her marriage had been a pretty flimsy thing to begin with. Walt's had been much stronger, had meant much more.

What she'd felt for Sean was such a paltry, weak emotion in comparison. It withered and died so easily, leaving behind only the sting of disappointment and a vague sadness at having failed yet again. The hurts he inflicted on her in his bitterness were as insignificant as paper cuts compared to the slow-bleed agony of Walt's abandonment.

And now here she was, trapped in this strange, strained situation with the man she was in love with, while the man who'd been in love with her had traveled to the other side of the world to get away. 'The Disaster' felt like a more appropriate nickname for her than 'The Terror' these days.

Sitting back, she drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. The stretch made her knees sting but she felt less exposed to whatever was coming.

"Vic," Walt said as he shifted on the couch, angling himself to face her. She'd always loved that he could say her name like it was a whole sentence all by itself. Now it ached a little. "What you said the other day... you were right."

That made her look at him fully. "Which part?"

"Uh, well, all of it, really. I haven't been a good boss, or a good friend, or... much of anything for a while. I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry I made you feel like you did something wrong. Because you didn't, Vic. You did a great job—you _do_ a great job. I should've told you that. You deserve to hear that."

"Thank you," she whispered. It was as much sound as she could get from her throat.

"I don't know if you've talked to Eamonn..." He let the sentence dangle for a few seconds but Vic didn't pick it up. "Um, well, I offered him the job."

"Okay."

Walt nodded and rubbed his palms against his jeans a few times before he spoke again. "There's no official department policy against, uh, coworkers dating, so if you wanted to, um, with Eamonn, it... wouldn't be a problem."

Vic didn't know whether to crawl into a cupboard and hide or burst out laughing. She could only imagine the look on her face. "Are you... trying to set me up with Eamonn now?" Her voice sounded high and squeaky in her ears.

"No," Walt said with force. "No, that's not... I just thought, um, if... There's nothing that says you couldn't. If you wanted to."

"Okay," she said cautiously. "That's... good to know." Somehow the conversation had moved from the stupidly dull to the thoroughly surreal. Eamonn's comment about The Twilight Zone was making more and more sense.

"Okay," Walt echoed. "About that, uh, I want to say I'm sorry if it seemed like I was implying, in any way, that you were, um..."

He was floundering so hard that she finally took pity on him. "The Whore of Absaroka?"

"Yeah," he said, looking relieved. An instant later his expression turned horrified. "I mean no. I don't think that, Vic. I wouldn't... I mean you have the right, obviously, to do, um, to make whatever choices you want, and it's not, uh, my place to judge them."

This uniquely Walt style of flustered earnestness was making it impossible to hold on to the antagonism she wanted to be feeling. "Yeah, I think I got a little carried away with that one. Leaping to the worst possible insult is sort of my specialty." She offered him a rueful smile. "And while we're on the subject of apologies, I'm sorry for the way I acted. Especially since I accused you of not being professional while I was standing there being completely unprofessional myself. Not that I regret what I said. Well, not most of it," she corrected. "But it was the wrong way to say it. So... thanks for not firing me."

Walt leaned forward and shook his head. "You were honest and direct. I value those things in you, Vic. I would never punish you for being who you are."

 _Jesus,_ she thought. For a man who had so much trouble talking about feelings, he could pack a hell of a lot into a few sentences when he wanted to. Her heart fluttered a little, not so much at his words but the conviction behind them. Maybe it was a pathetic reaction but she knew him and she knew he'd never say something like that if he didn't absolutely mean it. Sitting there on her sofa, he was as willing to be open as she'd ever seen him. She wanted to discover how far they could go. "Why didn't you ever call me back?" she asked. "I left you so many messages."

"Twenty-seven," he said.

"What?"

"You left twenty-seven messages. I, uh, saved them."

"You saved them? Why?"

He looked down at his hands. "I liked hearing them. Liked hearing your voice."

"You could've heard my voice a lot more if you'd called me," she shot back.

"I know." When he looked up at her again his eyes seemed even more intense than usual. "I got caught up in my head. Thinking about... everything. Time just, uh, kind of slipped away from me I guess."

Vic studied him for a few moments, taking a leaf from Walt's own book. Thinking before she spoke, or at least trying to. So she was calm and steady when she said, "That's bullshit and you know it. You're a smart, perceptive man, Walt, but you can also be a real shit when you want to be. You hide yourself away because you're scared and you like to wallow around in your misery. And then when you're done and you decide to join the rest of us again, you get pissed because the world hasn't just been holding its breath, waiting for you to grace it with your presence."

Walt let out a long, slow breath but didn't break eye contact as she silently dared him to contradict her. When he said nothing, she kept going before she could change her mind.

"You shut out the people who care about you. Cady, Henry, me. It's cruel, Walt. You hurt people. Do you get that? You only want us around when it's convenient for you and that's so fucking selfish I can't believe nobody's ever called you on it." She unwound herself to sit with her legs folded underneath her. They were almost nose to nose now. "I know that I can't understand what it was like for you to lose your wife the way you did. But I do know how I've felt with you pushing me away and ignoring me these last few months. And I don't want to feel like that anymore, okay? You don't get to use your grief as an excuse anymore, Walt. I won't accept it."

Tears were gathering in her eyes and it was an effort to push the rest of the words out past the lump in her throat. But she needed to say them and she needed him to listen. "You have to be my friend all the time and not just when it suits you. If you can't do that then I need to know now. Because I am so fucking tired of being hurt and I'm not doing this with you anymore."

That was as much as she could manage. Swiping at her face with one hand, she flailed for a tissue with the other. There was a time when she would've been embarrassed that Walt was seeing her like this, but that was over. She blew her nose and crumpled the tissue in her lap with a long exhale. Glancing at Walt, she saw his hand twitch as if he'd stopped it in the act of reaching out.

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Vic," he said quietly when she met his eyes. "And I do want... I want to be your friend. I'm probably gonna screw it up sometimes but I do want that."

She sniffled and gave him a half smile. "Well, 'screw up' is my middle name, so we'll make a good team."

"Yeah." His smile in return was wry. "We do make a good team."

The relief of finally getting it all out and the release of crying combined to make her feel a little giddy. She laughed. "Yeah. We're pretty kickass."

Walt's smile turned softer and he studied her in the way he sometimes did, like he saw and knew all of her. No one else had ever looked at her that way. It stole her breath now as much as it always had. "Listen, Vic," he began, just as her phone rang in the kitchen. They both turned their heads toward the sound. "Uh, that might be the station," he said with a hint of apology. "I told Ruby I'd be coming here."

"You're such a pain in the ass," she said as she sprinted into the other room, her knees and calves protesting vigorously. Walt came in behind her as she checked the caller ID. It wasn't a number she recognized. "Nope, not the station."

"You don't want to answer it?" he asked as it continued to ring.

She declined the call and faced him. "That's why voicemail was invented."

"Right."

They stood looking at each other while silence stretched between them. The delicate connection of just a minute ago began to dissipate and Vic was suddenly afraid he would use the interruption as an excuse to leave. She wasn't ready for that to happen just yet. "Hey, do you want something to drink?" she asked. "Coffee or water or... I actually went grocery shopping yesterday so I even have juice that's not out of date."

For a second she thought he'd refuse, but he surprised her by saying, "Water's fine." He was quiet while she grabbed a couple of glasses from the cupboard and filled them, then he cleared his throat. "Uh, Henry mentioned you were at the Red Pony yesterday as well."

"Yeah, I was pretty much out of everything edible." She handed him a glass with an ironic flourish, and took a sip from her own before setting it down. There was no way she wanted to get into a discussion right now of what Henry had or hadn't said about their talk. "So, um, you started to say something before," she said with a gesture toward the living room.

"Oh, uh..." Walt drank half the water down in a few quick swallows and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A hot little spark shot through her as she watched the movements of his throat. The kitchen seemed to grow warmer and Vic scrunched her toes against the cool tile under her feet, wishing she'd taken off her socks. Walt set his glass on the counter and tapped it twice with one finger. "I don't know how to say what I'm about to say, so I'm just gonna say it, okay?"

Her heart tripped into a faster rhythm. "Okay."

"A few months ago when, um... when Sean had me serve you the divorce papers, I told you I wanted you to stay. When I said that, I, uh, I didn't just mean with the department." She swallowed hard as he took a step closer. "The reason I wanted you to stay, Vic, was... It was personal."

There was air in the room but she couldn't seem to get it into her lungs. So much had passed between them since that moment in his office. She'd begun to doubt it had held any significance for him at all.

"So, uh, how do you feel about that?" He sounded nervous, as if he really wasn't sure of her answer.

"Why the hell do you think I'm still here, Walt?" she demanded.

He breathed a laugh, glancing down and then back up again. His mouth curved in a tiny smile that was reflected more brightly in his blue, blue eyes. "Well, I hoped, but..."

She took her own step closer to him and said, "Duh." Reaching out to where his hand rested on the counter, Vic touched the tips of her fingers to his. "After a while, though, I thought maybe it was just me," she told him in a quiet voice.

"No," Walt said just as quietly and covered her hand with his. "But after what happened with Branch... I thought I had to be more objective. Not let my personal feelings interfere. So I tried to ignore, uh, ignore how I felt."

"And you had to ignore me as well?" she asked, turning her hand under his so that their palms fit together. Though his skin was cool from the glass, prickles of heat danced up her arm.

"I didn't mean to, Vic." His fingertips whispered an apology over the sensitive skin at her wrist. "But I think maybe, um, maybe you were right. I did expect everything to hold still until I was ready."

"Ready for what?"

"Ready to live the rest of my life." His gaze was steady on hers as he drew a slow path across her palm to tangle their fingers together.

It felt so natural to be standing there in her kitchen with him, to be holding hands as though they did this all the time. And Vic so badly wanted to accept what his words and his touch seemed to be offering. But— "That's not how it felt when you came back to work."

"I know." He sighed and looked down at where their fingers intertwined. "That was, um... I saw you and, uh, Eamonn together and I thought..."

"You thought what?"

"That you'd given up on me," he admitted.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" she asked softly.

"Yeah." He met her eyes again. "Yep."

"Well, you were wrong," she told him. "Which you would've known if you'd talked to me instead of making an ass of yourself. Seriously, Walt, communication is a thing people do."

"I think I heard that somewhere," he said with a lopsided grin.

Vic rolled her eyes. "It's a thing _you_ need to do."

"Might've heard that, too."

"Yeah, from me." She tugged on his hand to emphasize her point. "I meant what I said. I'm tired of being hurt."

The humor vanished from his face and he regarded her solemnly. "I know."

"Good," she said. Then, like the seasoned investigator she was, she homed in on the other salient point in his admission. "So," she drew the word out like an elastic band, "you were jealous because another boy likes me?"

"Vic," he said, wincing. And, holy crap, was he actually blushing? Laughter bubbled up out of her and she pressed her lips together, trying to hold it back. Walt slid his hand along her arm and pulled her in until they were standing toe to toe. "You think that's funny, huh?" he asked in a low, rumbling voice.

"Maybe a little," she said, grinning, although the urge to laugh was fading by the moment now that they stood so close together. Her gaze flickered down to his mouth and she licked her lip without thinking. When she looked up again, he seemed to be transfixed.

Her free hand came up to rest lightly against his chest. She could feel the motion of each breath he took under the slightly rough weave of his shirt. Walt's other hand curved around her hip and pulled gently as she swayed into him.

A distant part of her mind thought _finally_ as their lips met. The touch of his mouth on hers sent a flurry of warmth spinning through her. It was an easy, undemanding kiss, not earth-shaking, but good. So good. Everything in her loosened and her head felt light enough to simply float away.

Their lips parted slowly, reluctantly, and it took Vic a few seconds to open her eyes. He was so close; they hovered just at the borders of each other. She felt immersed in breath and skin, rocked by an almost unbearable yearning to press herself against him everywhere, all at once. When they moved together again she shivered.

This time he opened his mouth a little, catching her bottom lip. It was as if a circuit had been completed, an electric current like a silent hum passing through them and spreading to fill every inch of her. Walt's hand slid higher, rucking up the back of her shirt and finding skin. A soft noise of pleasure rose in her throat as the contact lit her up like a flare in the dark. Vic pushed closer, restless, up on her toes and gripping his shirt for leverage.

His hand at her elbow moved to cup the back of her head, fingers twisting through the loose strands of her braid. Her newly freed arm swept down over his ass to pull him in tighter against her. Walt's mouth was hot and slick on hers, his body hard. She felt engulfed by him, her muscles softening like warm wax as she let herself sink. They separated only to gasp for air and then dove back into each other with lips and tongues and teeth, drowning together in a ferocious, heady sea of _want_. Vic forgot everything except the heat and urgency building between them. They were on the verge of inferno, ready to ignite.

Her phone rang.

They sprang apart, stumbling a little and breathing hard. Vic touched her fingers to her lips with a shaky hand and cleared her throat. Walt looked as flustered and dazed as she felt.

She fumbled to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hey, Vic, it's Ferg. Is the Sheriff with you?"

"Just a sec." She held the phone out to Walt. "Ferg."

He took it and she turned around to stare blindly out the window, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to calm her breathing. And her everything else. Christ, she'd had sex that wasn't as hot as those few minutes of kissing. Now her body was practically vibrating with arousal, achy and unsatisfied all over, and Walt was about to go off to be the sheriff for who-knew-how-long. Why hadn't she switched her phone to silent? Or switched it off altogether?

Behind her, Walt's side of the conversation consisted of "Yeah," and "Where?" and "Okay," punctuated by stretches of silence during which she assumed Ferg was talking. When the call ended, she turned again and Walt passed the phone back to her.

"You've gotta go," she said.

"Yeah."

Vic nodded. That was the job and she knew it well. But usually she was the one leaving, not the one being left; usually she'd be going with Walt, not staying behind. She found she didn't like it from this side at all.

They stood there for a handful of seconds before Walt said, "So, I should..."

"Yeah."

In the living room she watched him put on his hat and settle it into place. How many times had she seen him do the exact same thing? The action always heralded departure but it had never seemed so significant before.

A leaden feeling descended on her as she opened the door and held it for him. The heightened emotion of the last hour had drained away and left her muddled and a little deflated. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

Walt considered her, reaching out to brush his fingers over the back of her hand where it rested on the doorknob. Her body recognized his touch and responded with an eagerness she resented just then. "Vic," he said. His gaze roamed her face as if he was trying to memorize it. "I don't want to leave."

Her heart thudded hard once against her ribs and then settled back to its usual beat. "I don't want you to, either."

The tension in his face relaxed and he moved a little closer. His thumb traced a sweeping arc back and forth across her knuckles that sent awareness rippling along her nerves. "So, uh, you busy tonight?"

"No," she said, and it came out breathless.

He ducked his head and somehow managed to look up at her through his lashes. "Do you want to come over? Have dinner with me?"

Vic's stomach backflipped and she bit her lip, trying to rein in the helpless smile spreading across her face. "Okay."

"Okay," he said with a smile that mirrored hers.

"What time?"

"Uh, seven?"

He was looking at her mouth again.

She wanted to lick his jaw. Or his anything, really.

"You need to go," she managed.

"Uh huh," he said, making no move to do so.

Then he was leaning in and so was she. Their mouths met in the space between them, stand-ins for everywhere else their bodies wanted to touch. The kiss was brief but full of promise and it left her a little hazy. Judging by the not-quite-steady step back Walt took, it had the same effect on him.

"So I'll see you at seven," he said.

"Yep."

He nodded and pushed opened the screen door.

"Want me to bring anything?" she asked.

"Nope," he said, then paused and seemed to reconsider. "Uh, maybe some clothes for tomorrow. If you want." The slow, lazy smile he flashed her short-circuited her brain.

"Jesus," she whispered as everything in her went hot. Where the fuck had he been hiding that all this time?

"Bye, Vic," he said, closing the screen door and looking pleased with himself.

She watched in a floaty, tingly, squeezing her thighs together kind of daze as he walked to the Bronco. When he pulled away, she shut the door and leaned back against it with her eyes closed. A low-grade buzzing filled her head like some kind of emotional white noise. It was sheer overload from every strong, confusing, all-or-nothing feeling she'd lived with over the last few days.

Vic had learned a lot about herself since coming to Wyoming. She'd also learned a lot about love: what it was and what it wasn't; what it could and couldn't be. The lessons had mostly been painful, and some of them had left scars, but all of them had forced her to grow. She knew she was a better person than she'd been back then, and it was largely due to Walt. No one else had ever inspired her or pushed her or believed in her the way he did. She hadn't overhauled her life for him—she'd done that work for herself—but Walt had been the catalyst.

The morning she'd driven out to his place with a six-pack of Rainier and a wild hope in her heart, Vic had thought it was a beginning. But he'd been absent in more ways than one. Now, though, he was ready and right there with her. It all felt more possible than ever before.

Vic covered her face with her hands and allowed herself one very loud, very girly squeal of happiness. Then she raced up the stairs to find something to wear that would make Walt trip right over his tongue. He might have thrown down a gauntlet with that shameless invitation, but she planned to be the undisputed winner tonight.

[END]

* * *

 **A/N:** i stole a line from 4x06 which you might not even notice. thanks and apologies to everyone whose comments i haven't responded to. as always, constructive criticism is very welcome.


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